


100 Years

by trylonandperisphere



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1864686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trylonandperisphere/pseuds/trylonandperisphere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt from whatiwork4 for Cophine set to the song 100 Years by Five For Fighting (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XX8JYJsQxE0) and a certain scene from episode 2x10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	100 Years

It’s not easy to sleep with a nasal cannula.  Cosima gave thanks that she didn’t have an intravenous line in, although she probably should.

Her sister-clone slept beside her.  Sarah’s face was soft in unconsciousness, almost girlish, not at all like the tough façade she tried to keep on during the day.  Cosima wondered briefly how much they looked alike when asleep, since you never get to see yourself sleeping.  A silly thought, fleeting.  They looked everything and nothing alike.

A rumble worked from Cosima’s chest to her throat, and she struggled for a moment not to cough, to wake the others.  _Relax,_ she told herself, _let it pass._

So many things were passing.  She had been fighting hard to keep up, to make a difference, to survive.  She wasn’t sure how much longer she could.

Having Delphine away was another devastation.  She tried not to think about it, not to think about how many times she had pushed her lover away, the reasons why she was right to do so, the reasons why she always grabbed and pulled her back.  She knew that Delphine needed her, too, now.  But she hadn’t been in Delphine’s life that long.  Delphine would find love again, if…

_If I die,_ Cosima finished for herself, letting out a painful breath.  _At this point, probably_ when, _and it won’t be long._

But she had been lucky.  Lucky to live the life she had, to find the truth of all these sisters, all this _family_ she’d never known were out there, hers.  She could see her possible life if she’d never known about Project Leda in her mind’s eye, too: more content, more constant, perhaps, but so much poorer, lacking the opportunity to do what she was clearly meant to do, lacking all of them.

Lacking Delphine.

_Crap, I’m so lucky, and so screwed over,_ she thought _.  I finally meet this person… possibly the one I’ve been looking for all my life…_

Jessy came to mind.  At fifteen, Cosima had been lonely, the misunderstood geek in the class.  But Jessy had taken her in. 

Cosima never knew what it was that made Jessy talk to her.  She had been sitting in the library totally immersed in an article about the public release of the first sequencing of a human chromosome, when someone kicked her foot.  It was the older girl on the opposite side of the table reading Kerouac.  Lanky, with prolific dark curls partially covered by a Baja hoodie, and a smattering of freckles over cheeks and nose.  Cosima knew of her, had seen her around, but didn’t know her. 

“Hey.  You’re Niehaus, right?  From my bio class?”

Cosima nodded, a bit wary, unsure where this was going. 

“You were the one talking about _The Matrix_ with Kleeman,” the girl stated, prompting another nod from Cosima.  She had made some throwaway comment to the teacher about the movie as a treatise on controlling bioelectrical impulses in brain chemistry.  Most of the other students phased out when Cosima spoke up in class, finding her incomprehensible and something of a show-off.  But Jessy had been paying attention.

“I think there’s more to the movie than that,” the older girl said, pushing Cosima’s foot gently with her boot again.  Her eyes were an almost mossy green, penetrating.

“Uhh… you mean as an allegory to the role of modern technology as a dehumanizing, capitalistic force?” Cosima’s mouth was dry.  She wasn’t used to being looked at like that, especially by someone so pretty, so _cool_.  When Jessy chuckled, at first she thought the girl was laughing at her.

“Tell me, Niehaus: you ever seen it high?”

Within a few weeks she and Jessy were getting spectacularly baked together on a regular basis.  Cosima had never been against pot — heck, her parents were open about their occasional imbibing and considered it perfectly normal and harmless.  But she had never tried it, because she had never had anyone she wanted to do it with before now. 

Jessy just seemed to like her company.  The older girl never asked Cosima with help studying, although Cosima ended up giving her pointers so Jessy could get done with her homework and they could spend more time together.  Sometimes Jessy had a deep insight into Cosima’s ramblings that surprised her with its acuity, but more often she’d just shake her head and smile with that little curl on the right side of her mouth and say “Your brain, Cos.  I just love your brain, egghead.”

Jessy was way into music, underground dance music, not the stuff on the charts everyone else was interested in.  She’d play hours of it to Cosima, talking about breakbeat, acid, dubstep.  She was going to be a DJ, throw huge parties someday.  And Cosima believed her.  There was something in Jessy’s eyes — the way she looked deeply into Cosima’s, as if she was fascinated and a little bit amused — and her easy grin that made Cosima feel that Jessy could do it.  She admired her relaxed body language, her pursuit of pleasure.  And she had come to find Jessy more than beautiful.  She had come to find herself buzzing, addicted, nervous every time they hung out.

Cosima’s parents were totally liberal.  They supported equal rights and were absolutely cool when Cosima’s cousin Arlo came out as gay.  So she wasn’t ignorant.  She knew something was happening inside her toward her friend.  She just didn’t know what to do with it.

Jessy took her to her first rave.  Cosima felt young, self-conscious at first, but Jessy’s friends were always nice, chill.  Jessy told her not to be nervous, that she was smart and awesome enough by far to make up for being one of the youngest kids there.  But that wasn’t the only thing that made Cosima nervous.

She remembered so much of that night.  How the dancing seemed to go on forever, the beat pumping into her chest, Jessy sticking close, not saying much, but all smiles and laughs.  She remembered when she was offered the X, and how she was hesitant, but when she saw Jessy was there for her, taking some for herself but not pushing her friend, she felt a combination of safety and what-the-fuck and popped it in her mouth, too.  She remembered the laughing, the hugging, the dancing closer, lights streaking, everything seeming so warm and perfect, Jessy taking her hand and leading them, both giggling, up to the roof.  And then Jessy’s lips upon hers and _oh, yes_  — _that_ was what she wanted, _that_ was what was meant to be happening — and the surreal feeling of just flowing, following their bodies all through the night, then lying, exhausted, fulfilled, eyes a little gritty and pebbles in their hair, as the sun rose above them.

She had thought this was it.  That this was forever.

But life intervened.  Jessy never seemed to stop caring for her, to want touching her, for all those months.  But she started to get quieter.  She didn’t laugh as much, near the end.  And when she had announced — softly, with no little pain herself  —  that she was moving to Seattle, Cosima’s heart was both screaming and steady with the plunging acceptance of the inevitable. 

“I do love you, Cos,” Jessy had said, “but you’re too smart for me.  I’m not saying that to be critical  — I love your big, beautiful brain.  But I can’t keep up with it.  I feel lost sometimes… like I don’t know where I’m going besides with you, and I don’t want to hold you back.”

Cosima didn’t know if she believed it and Jessy was being insecure or if she doubted it and thought her first girlfriend had found something else, some basic fault in who Cosima was that was driving her away.  But Jess was dropping out of school and going to Seattle to join a music collective, and she didn’t want her coming with.  She said Cosima had too much potential, too much to hold onto where she was.  But Cosima wanted to hold on to her, too.

It was a painful summer.  Sometimes Cosima barely got out of bed.  She got an occasional letter from Jess, always a short one, saying this or that gig was being planned, she had gotten a job as a waitress, she’d been going to poetry slams, but the bottom line was always _keep going, Cos, I believe in you.  Believe in yourself and keep expanding that big brain, ‘cause you can do great things._ And somehow, over time, throwing herself into her studies and getting an internship, getting a part-time job and hanging out with the laid-back friends she’d met at the clubs, getting a scholarship for college and just day by day living her life, Cosima began to understand.  Her mom told her that sometimes people make choices that, even though they hurt us, were probably more due to _their_ problems, and may just be for the best for everyone.  And as her communication with Jessy trailed off and she found herself hearing third-hand about how she’d left a boyfriend, started making jewelry, moved to Arizona, she still felt an ache, but it was duller. 

She’d run into Jessy at a party years later, hesitantly looked into her past flame’s tired, older eyes and found herself out of resentment, just a little sad, contemplative about the time they’d been together, and thinking _yeah, she was right.  We’re on different pages, were always heading that way._ They had a nice, if somewhat stilted conversation, and wished each other well in a way that said _I won’t stay in touch, but sometimes you’ll come to mind and I’ll  feel a little of that old love, that sad pull._  And that was that, her first love.  Funny how it could still give her the ghosts of feelings, but mostly make her feel tender towards her younger self.  Wishing it had worked out was some time, someone she no longer was.

Sarah stirred beside her, turning to face away.  Felix’s apartment never really got dark, between the neon outside and the lights he seemed to constantly have on here and there.  Cosima tried turning on her side, too.  She got a little twisted, had to yank the tube to the cannula to get it straight.  She wondered how long a night could last, if she should be actively trying to sleep or holding on to every moment, not knowing when or if she might open her eyes again.

Corey had been a surprise.  He was a rounded, compact bundle of energy, hair clipped in electric-shock spikes, papi goatee, and a tendency to curse prodigiously in L.A. Spanglish when things went wrong.  They met at a car wash, of all places, and, although he clearly was interested in a date, he was so freakin’ funny that she agreed to go out for a shake with him.   It didn’t hurt that he liked her battered, burnt orange ’64 Valiant, and his first line was about her being hydrophilic when she accidently blasted herself with the hose.  She figured she’d let him down easy and maybe make a friend, but he had this positive, boyish energy that matched her so well, and he was really interested and listened to whatever she said.

They went to a few Giants games and competed with each other on using statistics to predict the outcomes.  Loser paid for hot dogs, and after she made it clear the first time that she wasn’t cool with the tradition of the guy paying for her, he was happy to needle her and watch her pull out her wallet when she lost.

She wasn’t sure when her feelings changed, but one night while watching a particularly boring movie she looked up at his face in the light from the TV and kissed him.  He was solicitous and gentle, and not the kind of guy who went straight for the target — he made sure she had a good time.  He made her laugh and ran out for nachos after sex. 

After a while it felt comfortable.  He’d peek at her text books so her could keep up with her ramblings on biology – he even got into a habit of greeting her at the door with a cheesy “fun fact” about animals or plants that he read somewhere, always making her roll her eyes and chuckle.  She learned about engine tuning and hemis and went with him to trivia nights at the local bar, where, between the two of them, they cleaned up.  He was a fantastic dancer, and taught her a little salsa and a little swing, which she sometimes flung herself into with a bit too much abandon.  They met each other’s families, and after what Cosima worried might be a very awkward barbecue, even her couple of older, lesbian friends seemed alright with him.  They talked about moving in together.

The trouble began when she started grad school.  She was out at the lab and the library for long hours, and he started spending more time out with his buddies at the bars.  They saw each other less and less, and he became more often drunk and less often funny.  They had a blow up when she accepted working on a special project that would mean she’d have to miss his sister’s wedding.  Some days he’d be super attentive, but others he’d sulk after she’d accuse him of practicing some macho bullshit when he was pushy about her going out with him.   She tried to give him more of her time than she really felt comfortable taking away from her work.  She really loved him, but it wasn’t the kind of love that made her knees shake.  She’d figured that since she wasn’t a teenager anymore, that kind of feeling, that limerence, wasn’t to be expected.  So, she kept trying to pull it together, until she came home one night and he told her he’d slept with someone else — a girl at the bar they both knew, not a close friend, but still.  He was honest, he didn’t make a speech blaming her, and he still loved her, but he didn’t even want to work on staying together anymore.  Cosima was 22 and she’d thought she had it all worked out, that they would live together and — what?  Stay exactly the same as things had been forever?

She spent even more time at the lab, then.  And she dated a bit, here and there — she was human.  She even had a spark with some people that she thought might lead to a long burn.  There were those three weeks with Bella, the dancer from New York who was so limber and predatory that Cosima thought there would never be an end to the types of naughtiness and orgasms she could learn about.  Coming down from her had been like re-adjusting to reality after a long trip. 

There had been a short series of older women who were intellectual, experienced, but didn’t have the energy, the enthusiasm Cosima did, and sometimes seemed to be all but patting her head.   

But no-one really _stuck_ , again, except as a friend.  Cosima was empathetic.  She was very good at turning casual lovers into casual friends.  But at some point she decided it was the work that mattered to her, the science she was drawn to, and that she should concentrate on that rather than the ifs and variables of the human heart.

After studying another year she took a year off and backpacked.  The Rocky Mountains, Central America, Cambodia, Amsterdam.  She soaked in experiences, living on her own, making connections with people of different backgrounds, different languages.  She spent hours in the rainforest watching insects, monkeys and birds.  She watched the sweep and chaos/order of traffic from a high hotel window. She helped a Peace Corps volunteer install an irrigation system and wrote notes on the needs of small villages and conservation of resources all night in her tent.  She released something, and she engaged, open, and she realized what good she could do.  She was almost itching for a lab by the time she got home.

She transferred to U Minn upon a review of how their program fit her and an offer of a hefty scholarship, and with the knowledge that the world was huge, and there were important things to do.  She could remain fascinated, growing and contributing forever in her field.  _That_ was what life was about.  Besides, her subconscious whispered, it was unrealistic to think that, after all she’d been through, with all the depth and breadth of humanity, there was still a certain, special _one_ out there for her, a soul mate, a mythological other half. 

Until Delphine.

And how Delphine shook her, made her weak in the knees, and gloriously addicted from the very first time she saw her.  She tried to be slick, figured Delphine was probably her monitor.  But it was more than feeling lonely in a new place, and more than Delphine’s obvious, ridiculous, beauty.  They had _clicked._ They _got_ each other, despite in some ways coming from such opposite ends, and the connection was not just in terms of both being whip-smart and excited about science, but at some deep, primal level, where a glance, a smile, the smell of her skin or a light touch pulled them _into_ each other like _need_ , like gravity.  And it wasn’t just intellectual or physical.  It was something about each other that they just understood.  Even when she felt she’d been betrayed or couldn’t trust anymore, even when she felt she was being the world’s biggest idiot for giving in, Cosima could just tell that Delphine was _good_ — that she always meant well, even when she fucked up, and that she had given Cosima her loyalty, her dogged heart, which, once won, would make her do whatever she could to take care of the woman she loved, at almost any expense.  And once Delphine got it, once she _really understood_ that Cosima needed a love that also gave her agency, the room to make her own decisions, even if Delphine found them scary, Cosima knew she could truly fall in love.

If only all this craziness wasn’t always in the way.  If only she hadn’t gotten that first call from Beth.  That call where, as impossible as it sounded, the concept of herself as a _clone,_ both an anomaly and a part of a greater whole of others, fit in a way that made improbable sense.  The discovery of this whole other life, and all its complications.  And Delphine was right in the middle of it.  Love and death.

She rolled on her back again.  She felt her own exhaustion, her body failing, attacking itself with the speed and mindless inexorability of something truly _engineered_ to deny her selfhood.  Part of her felt resigned.  How could the stars align themselves this time?  How could happily ever after even be a real thing, be true? 

But somehow, she still had hope inside her.

_If I get over this, if we get through this…_ Cosima thought, and visions filled her head. 

Her father, who had given her her first microscope, applauding proudly as she received her doctorate.  Kira and Sarah happy, finally free of DYAD.  How she was not sure, but somehow knowing there was an insider there with a more humane agenda made her dare to imagine it.

And her and Delphine.  Imagining her survival, their thriving.  A few years from now, together, comfortable in their own home, unpacking wedding presents and deciding which ones to keep and which ones to exchange.  Nights out at nice, quiet restaurants, just looking at each other over good wine, talking about work, philosophy, Delphine’s childhood vacations, anything but _what have they done to us_ and _what do we do to survive_.

And maybe… having a child together.  She could imagine Delphine suggesting using their cloning knowledge to create a miracle, to carry a baby part of both of them, and realizing that Cosima’s answer  — _no, no more experimenting on this, claiming a right to make a child a breathing, feeling product, when there are so many out there in need_ — was the right one at heart.  So they’d adopt, some adorable, unsure little girl or boy who soaked up knowledge and love, and who grew up into a semi-normal life, perhaps without knowing what badasses her or his mothers had been.

And maybe they’d have taken jobs that let them spend more time with the kid, or kids.  More time together.  And one year when the kids were at science camp, or arts camp, or band camp or whatever, they’d drive up and down the coast, just the two of them, together, wasting money on renting a convertible sports car  — Delphine insisting on driving the routes with hairpin curves  — and making love like they were just teenagers, without responsibilities, again.

Their parents would pass on.  Cosima couldn’t allow herself to picture where, or how, but she knew it happened in the fullness of time, of life and nature in their richness.  She imagined the emptiness of losing them, and it came to her that she had friends, she had _sisters_ now to hold her hands, and they and Delphine would carry her, just as she’d always be there for them.

The kids in college.  Delphine taking up gardening.  They’d take a trip to Egypt.  They’d visit Delphine’s half-sister in Marseille, talking about grandchildren and eating fresh fish.

Delphine would get an award.  She would have done something great in Immunology.  Cosima would get tenure, lead her own team, inspire young scientists.  Who was she kidding?  She’d get an award, too.

She could see them on Jaco Beach, Costa Rica, hand in hand, sun shirts over sagging tummies, walking the sand post-surfing, Cosima’s dreads threaded with grey, Delphine’s fair nose and cheeks a little too red.

And when it was over, when all the time they’d bought was finally expired, they’d be together, one way or another.  Cosima didn’t know how, but she could feel it within her.  A night like this one, knowing she didn’t have long, but recalling a fullness, chances for decisions, mistakes and outcomes.  A tumble of recollections longer,  overall better, filled with life and love and happiness.  Smiling because she was ready, and some part of her truly believed, after everything, that it wasn’t the end, that she’d be with Delphine again  — all their loved ones  — and they’d touch the stars.

Because that was it, wasn’t it? The simple rules of science touched on the never-ending whorl of nature you could never fully understand, except in moments of brief, speechless acceptance.  Acceptance that there was a purpose, and an evolution, but the beginnings and endings could never be known, at least unless you became timeless yourself.  If, as Buckminster Fuller had said, life was “the spirit incarnate in time,” that allowed for the spirit, the energy of life, as free-form, intangible, outside of that small time we were given.  There was conservation of energy, there were the same groundings in the human body as in microorganisms, galaxies.  Everything we built was governed by these laws that were innate, immutable, and never ended, spiraling out from our concepts of geometry into the sacred, infinite.

And if that was the case, there was no difference from her passing out of her body now, or at another time, a further point on the spiral, all connected as a whole, the golden mean.  She knew what she would know then, and all she learned would only be tests and affirmations of that.  She was the same person now as she was at fifteen, longing for and finding her first love, at twenty-two, releasing the average dream and throwing herself into the fire of exploration, the same person she could and would be at thirty-three, sixty-seven — any given age until death. 

So, yes, she longed and wanted.  She, as a human, wanted those few more breaths, those few more years of intimate, physical touches, that experience of loving another human being as a part of that intricate, repeating puzzle pattern that you could only hold for moments before it slipped out of your grasp, but you could _understand_ , almost, because it was made flesh.  The wonder of seeing how these human pieces fit together, in ways that made them stronger, larger pieces of the whole, descriptors of perfection that, when put in just the right places, created the sacred energies called love and happiness.

And she wanted Delphine.  Because she fit.  She was Cosima’s puzzle piece, and Cosima was hers.  Even if, in the cosmic whole of things, the pattern was repeating, they had some bond beyond the chemical, some attraction beyond the magnetic.  There was forever, and then there was now.  Cosima’s spirit could accept the forever, but the collection of atoms, the heart, the person who she was wanted the now, in all its fulfillment.

Sarah stirred beside her, emerging into a lighter stage of sleep, close to waking.  Soon Cosima would be interacting, bouncing off of and melding with these other people in her life, holding witness to them as they did to her.  She had made it through the night.  And if she had made it through the night, perhaps she could make it back to Delphine.

“What are you thinking about?” Sarah asked her, propping her head up on her hand to look at her sister.

Cosima paused for a moment.  _A whole lifetime,_ she thought.  _Everything._ And it took a moment for her lips to catch up, to attempt to frame one small bit of it.


End file.
